


Called To Arms

by ifellonblackdays



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifellonblackdays/pseuds/ifellonblackdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Death finds himself once again making the tedious journey to the Council's domain...but what is it this time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the face of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Just to say- In the first few chapters my writing is very heavy and descriptive. If you are a light reader... well I dunno I guess read it bit by bit and don't read it all in one sitting. Thank you c:  
> This story does not have any relationships, it's just a bit of mild violence and action. I may post another story including ships if that is the demand though...

"Hrmph. That should be the last of them,"  
Death had pierced the construct through the heart-- or at least where it's heart should have been--with Harvester. With a sharp tug of the handle, the spear Death wielded slid out of the stone and magic corpse, already beginning to meld into the usual double-scythes for Death to holster at his waist. "So where do you think they came from?"  
He indicated the...creatures...with a nod of his head at the newly grounded bodies, and a strand of greasy, jet black hair was dislodged with the motion. It hung gloomily over his emotionless mask, and the bone-white colour contrasted with the black of his hair. Under the skull mask, a face no-one--at least no-one living--had seen before, though doubtless it alone would have wrought terror into the hearts of his enemies. His blazing orange eyes and the shine that reflected off of his armour and Harvester were the only things to be seen clearly, since everything else was doused by the gathering haze, not only from the dust still settling from the fight moments before--Well, if you could call it a fight. It was a mere annoyance for Death, and hardly a challenge--but also there was a mysterious thin fog gathering around them. I say "them", I mean Death and his feathered companion who had just flittered across from his hiding place onto the Horseman's pale shoulder. Dust was never usually much help in a battle, since the most he could probably do was peck their eyes out, but again these creatures lacked anything of the sort. Not only that, Dust was a bit of a coward when it came to combat, so he would usually find a nice spot where he could spectate safely, then soon after he had decided it was safe again, fly back to Death and give a squawk of approval, or something like that. This is exactly what he did.  
"Squawk!" Death stood towering over the pile of stone with a bird on his shoulder, his eyes looking down at the mangled thing, burning even more than usual with concentration. Where had these things come from? Death was not sure, but the questions would have to be pushed to the back of his head for now, as a small floating figure appeared on the horizon. To a normal being it wouldn't even have been spotted until later, but Death's senses had been heightened, not only from being one of The Four, but he was on alert from the recent situation. You could never let your guard down in a place like the Forge Lands, despite its pretty scenery, it was a dangerous place. Especially since the newly discovered "constructs" had appeared there.  
Death didn't even need to squint his eyes to see the nearing silhouette darting from left to right like it was being bitten by invisible monsters, which only attacked from the side. He couldn't decide whether he should stand and wait until it got close enough for him to see that it was, or walk away in search of something else to amuse him while he was there and completely ignore the upcoming being. Though in the end he decided he would wait, because from the speed of the winged messenger he knew already that it would be important, and the fact he could see it was Panoptos...Well that was never a good sign. As the out of breath Panoptos came into earshot of the Horseman--even though Death sensed and could hear the messenger's wings from many yards away-- he took a minute to recover from the trek. Death just stood, looking blankly at him, almost as if already bored.  
"Death," Panoptos managed to exhale a second later.  
"That's me," was the reply. Although Death's voice was calm and slightly sarcastic--as usual--he was not entirely focused on the words of the panting slave in front of him. He was focused on the slave.  
Its spindly body was held aloft in the dusty air with black wings with a silky texture to them. His thin torso and arms were also black, and his hands donned long pokey fingers. The space between the torso and the grassy terrain was filled with wispy smoke coming from the lower part of the torso. It had no legs, basically. The whipping of the ghostly smoke and the irregular beating of his wings were the only sound it made--besides the panting--otherwise it would have been a mute creature. Well, this one wasn't. Even though, like the constructs lying on the grass nearby--that Panoptos hadn't seen, probably because he was either too focused on catching his breath or the fog obscured his view from up there--he had no indication of a mouth. That didn't mean it couldn't talk, unfortunately for Death. He was hovering a bit higher now, since he had regained a bit of strength, but maybe, the Rider wondered, he was intimidated by the Horseman's overwhelming presence. Luckily for him, he's under the Council's protection.  
Death studied the messenger impassively, and despite all he had seen, all the terrors of Hell and guardians of Heaven, this one still by far was the most mind boggling--and annoying.  
"It's the Council, you're being summoned." Panoptos said, now having gained his strength he had a louder voice. Not that anything else was going to hear though, because the only thing that could hear nearby was lying at Death's feet.  
"Of course. I wasn't exactly expecting you to come out all the way over here just for friendly chit chat."  
"Hmph," was his only response. Some of the slave's eyes had squinted slightly at the snarky comment, but the rest remained wide open, just in case the most unpredictable of the Four made a dangerous move for the snitch to report.  
"Did the Council mention what the reason was?" Death said on a more serious note. Anything including the Council having to summon Death especially was obviously a serious matter.  
Panoptos took a breath to speak, but flinched slightly after noticing the Horseman had rest his hand on the hilt of his weapon, although he decided it was not of any importance. "No," he said finally. "Only that it was urgent."  
Not long after the last word had been uttered from the messenger's mouth had the ground begun to shake softly, and small pebbles around bounced and shook at the new shift in tranquility. Around Death's feet, not only was there a stone carcass, but a swirling green mist forming from the air. Panoptos spread his arms and looked around, startled by the low, hollow beat emanating from all around. The mist grew, and Death, almost completely forgetting about his acquaintance's existence, turned on his heel and began to run, leaving the bodies and a confused Panoptos behind in the fog. Dust quickly took to the air, hovering close to the Horseman. The beat became louder, and it was clearer to hear that the beat was a regular one-two-three quaver. Soon enough it was obvious the monotonous noise was made by hooves.  
Death running, and the mist growing further still, it was a sight to see. The slave of the Charred Council had to flap rapidly to see the newly united trio, as from the grassy land erupted a body of greenish flesh and mist, which the Horseman was sprinting besides with ease. The arrival of Death's deceased steed was enough to make the messenger's eyes widen further still, not only from confusion, but amazement.  
The dead mist-cloaked horse was in a gallop, heading straight forward at an impossible speed for a normal being to keep up with, but this was just a leisurely stride across the beach for Death. A saddle of white bone was donned by the steed, and on it a saddle-horn, which was suddenly gripped by the Horseman, and, using a small push of his legs for momentum, he slid perfectly into the seat. Dust still flew easily beside, and the horse didn't even slow from the change of weight given by the newly seated Rider. Hard they galloped, and slowly the air seemed to ripple from the power of the three. Not only that, but they were about to ride through the fabric of the world. The air flowed and seemed to part for the racing Horseman, as he and his companions slowly rippled themselves, and suddenly disappeared into the air, leaving only a few odd black feathers, ethereal green mist, and an utterly dazed Panoptos.


	2. Reporting for Duty

Death rose his hand, closing his blazing orange eyes and tilting his head forward slightly, indicating firmly that the argument was over. The motion brought his fellow Rider's words to a halt. It was unnecessary for War to say anything against his Brother's reasoning; not unnecessary, useless. Death was, at least to his remaining kin, famous for being the most stubborn of the Four. In this case, they were right. He would not argue, because his way was always the final decision, and it would happen the way he said it would. Despite Death's threatening dominance and power, Strife, the Horseman with the most cheek--some may say foolishness for challenging Death--always dared to oppose the Eldest Rider.  
"Heh. Where will your stubbornness get you, Death? You always have it your way as though you are the Superior, but you're not. We should have a chance to speak our minds, whether it matters or not, so stop acting like you rule us." Strife said, the words echoing slightly underneath his metal mask, giving them a tang of mocking and ethereal reflection. At that point it felt as though the whole wasteland of a planet had gone silent. Almost as if the raging fires besides the towering pillars of rock had stopped mid-flow. Almost as if the crackling of the lava beneath their feet had cooled and settled for just another part of the blasted scenery. Almost as if the occasional breath from one of the Riders every now and then had been cut short, like the Rider had suffocated on the thickening air of the Council's Domain. Almost as if...everything, living or not, had died, or even ceased to exist.  
Death didn't even need to show through body language that he was angry, furious, at his younger sibling for questioning him, because the whole planet knew that he was. The Eldest took a slow, ominous step towards Strife. One. Two. Three. He was now a hands' distance from Strife, but stopped there. Fury held her breath, her chest rising and freezing like a statue. War tensed, his leather bracer making a soft sound as it was crushed slightly between his hand and his supple muscles. The Council, who had said nothing after the silence fell, seemed to have disappeared, even though their physical form in the shape of demon heads crafted from the rock of the world had stayed put. The silence soon shifted uncomfortably from emptiness to tense, and the others aside from Death and Strife subconsciously took a deep breath, preparing for the possible conflict between two of the last Nephilim.  
Death's eyes, orange as a gemstone of the purest pure, were the only portrayal of his mood. Well, people who knew Death like his brethren knew the signs of agitation or burning fury just from the change, spiritually and almost physically, in the atmosphere. This though, this could be felt by everything, whether it knew it or not. The Eldest Horseman's voice, monotonous and as deep as the darkest caverns of Hell, didn't even seem to happen, like his words were acknowledged by the things able to hear, but were heard as a memory. And right now for Strife, serenity and comfort seemed like a memory, as a devastatingly fast uppercut to the chin alone made him feel like he had lost the ability to be relaxed ever again. It was a moment after the mask of metal, hitting the dusty rock below and ringing through the ears of the Riders, before they had realized what had happened, let alone reacted.  
Strife lay in a sad, almost pitiful heap on the ground, dazed at the sudden blow to the face, and pride, but he wouldn't let that show, even if he was half-conscious. His helmet lay a few meters away from his place, the both of them having raised dust when meeting with the cold, hard floor. Only the beats of the Rider's pounding hearts could be heard, and the slow, dangerously steady breath of the Eldest's lungs. Although only three different heart beats could be heard, as though one had either never existed or just decided to stop working, despite the presence of four beings.  
Strife didn't move, aside from the frequent gasps of air, struggling to regain the wind that had been lost from the blow, fatal to anything other than another Nephilim or Godly being. Fury bit her lip, and couldn't stand to see one of her brothers in such a state for an amount of time, running and crouching near his stunned body, placing a hand on Strife's rising and falling chest, another hand hovering over his exposed and bloodied face. War only realized after taking a step forward that he had his hand behind his shoulder, tightly gripping the leather handle of the horrible Black Blade that was Chaoseater.  
Death hadn't even flinched.  
ENOUGH!!! The words of the Council's outrage at the disagreement of the Horsemen forced them to turn. Death knew this may have angered...okay ENRAGED the Council, but it was necessary, or at least to him it was. How dare Strife question him? Death had been through much, much more than any of his siblings around him could imagine, their mouths open at the sudden act of violence. That was unpredictable. Even for Death.  
ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED? WE SUMMONED YOU FOR A REASON, HORSEMAN, NOT TO HAVE A FAMILY SQUABBLE THAT DOES NOT CONCERN THE LIKES OF US. The magma and lava rivers surrounding the three faces had begun to burn hotter and emit more than ever as the Council bellowed their disapproval at their slaves. WE STRONGLY SUGGEST YOU GET ON WITH THE TASK AT HAND, AND WE EXPECT IT TO BE DONE PROPERLY THIS TIME. RETURN WHEN IT HAS BEEN DEALT WITH.  
And with that, Death turned on his heel and set off at an astounding pace, leaving his fellow Riders to gape at the sudden turn of events, reflecting what had happened in an instant through their heads. He didn't even look back at his downed Brother, who had only begun to wake up, using his gloved hand to wipe the blood from his mouth. On he went, on the mission that was of his highest importance, given to him by his Masters, while covering about 3 meters in one stride. He was heading for the sandy horizon.  
He was heading for Hell.


End file.
